


Trust

by ObsidianJade



Series: Burn 'verse [2]
Category: Bon Jovi
Genre: M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, potential implications of dub-con, pseudo-vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianJade/pseuds/ObsidianJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“He knows everything, David,” Jon repeats, his voice low and grave, and I sit on the floor, staring up at him and hyperventilating as my mind fights to comprehend what he’s telling me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/346204"> Burn</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [J_L_Nevole (Brambleshadow_of_WindClan)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=J_L_Nevole+%28Brambleshadow_of_WindClan%29).



> This was actually written... uhh, back in March. I didn't like it very much at the time, but I've since managed to warm up to it a bit. So, I'm celebrating getting tickets to the Because We Can tour (DC show, anyone joining me?) by posting fanfic featuring Jon as a crabby energy vampire, Richie as his potentially not-so-brainwashed companion, and David as the guy who's trying to figure all of it out. 
> 
> Gifted to J_L_Nevole, who brought my interest back to the Burn-verse with her Def Leppard series, [Moonlight](http://archiveofourown.org/series/29851) . Check it out, it's fun.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, and fantasy fiction at that. To my knowledge it has no basis in reality. All characters depicted herein are real people and property of themselves. No harm is intended or implied in the writing of this fiction, and no profit is made.

BURN

“You’re going to have to tell him, sooner or later.”

A human man - really, even another one of Us - would have been forced to, if not pause, at least ask me _‘Tell who what?’_ After all, it had been over two years since the topic had been broached between us.

Jon, striding through the bustling maze that was backstage, didn’t even slow. Even trying, I couldn’t feel him slipping into my mind, picking at the line of contemplation that I’d just spit out without warning or forethought. 

“Your conscience giving you trouble, Lemma? I can fix that for you if you like.”

“Thank you, but no. At least one of Us should probably maintain a moral compass that points somewhere near North.”

Jon snorts and keeps walking. For anyone else, it would be like a salmon swimming upstream through a waterspout - backstage this close to showtime was never anything short of organized chaos - but the proverbial waters never failed to part before Jon. 

I’ve never been sure if it was a factor of _what_ he was, or simply _who_ he was.

“You have to tell him,” I repeat, dodging around a frantic-looking woman carrying what I’m pretty sure is a a bag of rubber chickens. (I’m curious about that, I admit, but I’ve learned better than to ask. I don’t need them showing up in my road-kit tomorrow, which is the likely outcome if I express any curiosity.)

“No,” Jon answers patiently, also ignoring the departing rubber chickens, “I don’t.”

I would have liked to stop and muster an indignant glare, but Jon is a force of nature even on the best of days. My legs might be longer than his, but his determination to always be at the forefront of _everything_ meant that I’d be left in the dust if I didn’t scramble to keep up with him.

“It’s not fair to...” I don’t bother voicing the rest of the thoughts aloud, knowing he could see them written out across the inside of my skull. _'...keep him in the dark on this. Take away his choice. It’s his life too, you know, no matter how much you’d like to think you own the rest of the band_.' 

Even if it’s true. The band’s called Bon Jovi for a reason - he does own us, little as I like to admit it. He’s a good leader, but no one’s ever called him _easy_. 

He turns his head enough to raise an eyebrow at me, and I know that all of my thoughts - even the last ones, that I’d hoped to keep at the back of my mind - had been read all too easily.

 _‘You always were the smart one,’_ he drawls inside my head, the inbred Jersey snark coming through loud and clear. _‘But even you can be fucking stupid, Lemma.’_

I don’t bother arguing out loud - I’d have better luck talking to one of the support pillars lining the hallway. But I can’t stop the thoughts from flitting through my mind, that ignorance is an unfair bliss, that nobody deserves the choice taken away from them until they force us into doing it...

Without glancing back at me, Jon says simply, “I’m not keeping him in the dark. He knows everything.”

There’s a half-second of sheer disbelief before I find myself on my ass on the cement floor, staring up at Jon, who casually turns back and leans up against the pillar I just walked into. Folding his arms across his chest, he stares down at me with his best impression of innocent patience. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“You....” The words are falling through my head, too chaotic to even hope for coherency, and this time I feel Jon in them, an invisible umbrella being pelted with the mad raindrops that are my thoughts. 

He withdraws quickly, rubbing his temple as he does.

“He knows everything, David,” Jon repeats, his voice low and grave, and I sit on the floor, staring up at him and hyperventilating as my mind fights to comprehend what he’s telling me. 

Even Tico doesn’t know the whole truth of what we are - he takes the energy from my lips willingly enough, takes my body without hesitation, but he doesn’t _know_. He wasn’t in the room when Jon tore Alec’s mind out, and I’d long suspected that Jon has been blurring Tico’s memories on the finer details of Us.

The same way I thought he’d been blurring Richie’s. 

_‘I never took his memories of that night,’_ Jon whispers into my mind, his mental voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. _‘I didn’t make him forget. When I gave him the choice, he looked into my eyes knowing damn well what I would do.’_

Footsteps, a familiar rhythm, interrupt us, and I twist my head around to see Richie’s bemused smile. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and I can read the questions in his face as though he were Jon, dropping them into my mind; a combination of _‘What are you doing?’, ‘You okay there?’,_ and, with a little more mischief lurking at the back of the concern, _‘Havin’ fun there, Lemma?’_

I ignore all of the questions, holding out both my hands to them in a silent request. Jon and Richie barely flick their eyes to one another before both of them step forward, each grasping one of my outstretched hands and simultaneously hauling me to my feet. 

“Shop talk?” Richie asks, draping his forearm over Jon’s shoulder even as he lets go of my hand, peering at the side of Jon’s face as though he can read an answer in the crows-feet feathering the edges of Jon’s eye. Maybe he can. I’ve known Jon longer than Richie has - a _lot_ longer - but he never can surprise Richie the way he surprises me. 

“Something like that,” Jon replies, not-quite leaning into Richie’s side. That’s all he says, but Richie nods like it actually was enough of an answer, dropping his arm and leaning over to kiss Jon’s cheek before running off to check on his guitars like he does before every show, despite having a massively competent tech who was supposed to do that shit for him. 

I glance back around to Jon, find him staring after Richie with an expression that I can’t recall ever seeing on his face before.

It’s not lust, or love, or infatuation, or want - it’s _trust_. As raw and simple and terrifying as you could ever imagine. 

The ten thousand questions of Richie’s knowledge fall silent in the back of my mind, and I silently follow my leader, my master, towards the stage. Trust doesn’t come easily to Us - we’re supposed to remain a secret, hidden away amidst warped mythology and fractured fairy tails. Powers like Jon’s mean any recollection of our existence is brushed aside like a waking dream, vanishing into the mists of lost memory.

The last time we trusted so fully, we were young and stupid, desperate to share everything we could of ourselves with our chosen brothers, the bandmates we were so certain would never betray us.

Alec turned away from us, years later, and I haven’t fully trusted anyone since. But Jon... 

Jon hadn’t surrendered hope when I had. He’d kept that trust, that faith, for so much longer than I ever would have guessed.

Jon’s my leader, and I’ve got no choice but to trust in Jon’s judgement. All I can do is hope to Hell he’s judged right.


End file.
